


Seven Steps

by deepestbluest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But the other one is Hashirama so you know, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Senju Tobirama Dies, Uchiha Izuna Lives, Well as much comfort as you can get when one of them is Madara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestbluest/pseuds/deepestbluest
Summary: Tobirama is dead, and Hashirama can't sleep.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 20
Kudos: 112





	Seven Steps

**Author's Note:**

> There must be a million versions of this, but a million plus one can't hurt, right?

Madara finds Hashirama on the engawa.

They've only lived in this house for a month, but Madara has already mapped it out according to a second blueprint, one made of experiences rather than location.

The kitchen is where he and Hashirama eat together; it's a room Madara loves because of Hashirama’s joy at being presented with something Madara made for him. The spare bedroom is where Izuna sleeps when Hashirama is away and Izuna has had too much to drink. The genkan is where Hashirama pulls Madara in to say goodbye or press a welcome home kiss to his cheek.

The bedroom is where they’ve begun to learn what living together means.

It's also where they should be right now, but Hashirama slipped out half an hour ago, as he has every night since he built this house for them. The bed he abandons is the one he built for them, and after weeks of waking up alone, Madara is tired of feeling the space where Hashirama ought to be but isn't. Tonight, Madara is set on bringing Hashirama back before dawn.

He knows why Hashirama leaves, just as he knows that actually getting Hashirama to return isn’t going to be easy.

The moon is full overhead, and the sky is clear; it reminds Madara of the night before his clan and Hashirama’s officially made peace.

“It’s a good night,” Hashirama had said, smiling softly. “You can see so much when the moon is full like this, but it isn’t the same as it is during the day. You might even see more with the moon than the sun.”

He'd winked as he said it.

Madara had told him he was talking out of his ass, and Hashirama had bemoaned Madara’s lack of creativity.

Tracing the shape of Hashirama’s slumped shoulders with his eyes, Madara can admit to himself that Hashirama might have been onto something.

In the daylight, Hashirama stands tall and proud. He couldn't bend if he wanted to.

The version of him visible in the moonlight looks like he's being crushed by the weight of his own body.

Hashirama must hear him approach, but he only looks up at the moon, his head resting against the side of one of the support beams built, like their bed and much of their village, by his mokuton.

Madara sits down beside him.

“The bed is cold without you.”

“Sorry, Madara,” Hashirama says without looking over. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“You won't.”

Hashirama chuckles weakly. “No, I suppose I won't.”

Madara tilts his head up toward the moon, wondering what Hashirama sees up there that's got him so captivated. “It's been half a year, hasn't it?”

“And?”

There's a note of defensiveness in Hashirama's voice.

Madara shakes his head. He isn't interested in needling Hashirama right now.

“It's strange to have time to grieve, isn't it? I wouldn't have taken you for the type to hide.”

Hashirama closes his eyes with a sigh. “I've always been grieving, Madara. The only difference is I’m no longer fighting you.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “And I’m not hiding.”

This time, it's Madara who laughs. Hashirama isn't the same man he was a year ago or when they were children, but the way he said _I’m not hiding_ was almost identical to the way he spoke when he was a boy with no clan Madara played with by the river.

They're at least two lifetimes away from that.

“I don't like you like this,” Madara says.

“Well, that's something.”

Hashirama falls silent and doesn't speak for a long time. His eyes reopen a sliver, but they don't focus on anything.

Madara lets Hashirama think; he’s been reckoning with silences like this for months. He should have demanded that Hashirama talk about it long before now, but every time he's opened his mouth, he's remembered the look on Hashirama's face as he realized it was Tobirama lying broken on the ground.

Tobirama had been a tall man, a scourge of an enemy, but in his brother's arms, his limbs had swung like an exhausted child's.

Hashirama had held Tobirama tight against his chest, his skin simultaneously burning and healing from the heat of Tobirama’s armor. He'd squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face to Tobirama’s for a moment, unflinching as his forehead touched Tobirama’s heat-warped happuri, and walked away.

If Madara had chosen to, he could have ended the war then. Hashirama had been distracted, and he wouldn't have dropped his brother to form the seals he'd need to call up something strong enough to protect himself.

A single seal might have been doable, but it was Tobirama who could do that, not Hashirama.

No one has asked Madara directly why he chose not to take advantage. He didn't believe in peace. Killing both brothers in a day would have effectively broken the clan. Even if the Senjus had retained enough spirit to fight back, with Madara and Izuna alive and the Senjus’ greatest warriors dead, they'd never win a battle against the Uchihas again.

He has an answer prepared in case they do.

This is a test. If Hashirama's mission of peace is as genuine as he claims, it can't waver. If getting hurt causes him to lash out, then the Uchihas never would have been safe.

In dying, Tobirama gave Madara an opportunity.

If Hashirama's dream was true, his brother's death wouldn't break it. A better future for the Uchihas paid for with Senju blood would be a bargain if it proved true.

Of course it's true. Hashirama's dream has always been to make the world perfect for everyone.

Even now, he sleeps next to the man whose brother killed his own.

“Perhaps,” Hashirama says quietly, finally breaking his silence, “fighting you to trust me and build the village we dreamed of was a way to mourn them. Now that I have the comfort of knowing the next generation won't die before they outweigh their armor, I have to face the reality of our dream.

“Adults will continue to be sacrificed. Tobirama was one of them, and he won't be the last.” He shakes his head, grinding his temple against the beam. “I never worried about him. I was always certain he would come back, and he always did. I only had to help him once, but that's what an older brother does, isn't it? We bring our brothers home, even if they're in pieces. Especially when they're in pieces."

His voice catches as he says _brother._

Outliving loved ones is the burden of being strong enough to survive; Hashirama doesn't need Madara to remind him of that.

“You're very confident that he would have accepted peace with my clan,” Madara says instead.

Madara didn't know Tobirama, but Izuna told him enough for Madara to be certain that Tobirama hadn't shared Hashirama's peaceable nature.

“He swore that he would, and Tobirama wasn’t a liar. He'd let me misconstrue things if it suited him, but he never broke his promises.” Hashirama huffs. “He pulled _such_ a face when I made him promise to be good. As if I were underestimating him by insinuating he would seek retribution against your clan if I wasn't there to make him play nice."

He tilts his head up once again, and though the light from the moon makes his face look more severe, his eyes shine.

“Konoha was his dream, too. He was an adult, and he chose freely to die for it. I don't want to dishonor that.”

Madara hums, but he knows a secret.

The morning the Uchihas and Senjus officially made peace, Izuna told Madara how he’d finally managed to get the upper hand.

The four of them had had an unspoken rule that they would fight one-on-one. After years of stalemates, all Izuna had needed to do was trick Tobirama into thinking Izuna was going to break that rule.

One moment of fear, one moment where his love for his brother overrode his logic, and Tobirama ran into a fireball that, had he been thinking right, he would have known wouldn't reach Hashirama.

Madara is confident Tobirama would approve of their decision not to share this with Hashirama. It would only hurt him, and the peace will hold regardless of what he thinks the truth is.

Lying is one of many ugly things that needs to be done to keep a place like this safe; there are things that have to stay in the dark and be borne in silence. Hashirama won't consider doing them, so other people must.

If Madara’s suspicions about the contents of the scrolls Hashirama inherited from his brother are even partly true, Tobirama spent his life preparing for the worst- largely by devising ways to be it.

It's better to have a weapon you don't need than to need one and not have it. Madara can respect Tobirama for understanding that.

“Izuna and I noticed yesterday that the Academy building is almost finished. That was his idea, wasn't it?” Madara asks.

Hashirama looks over at Madara for the first time and nods. “It was. My brother had a lot of ideas, and he wrote them all down for me.”

His mouth twitches downward, all but confirming Madara’s suspicions about Tobirama’s bequest.

Madara knows where Hashirama is hiding the scrolls. Hashirama's sentimentality may prove beneficial if Madara looks through the objectionable parts.

Hashirama lets out a slow, unsteady breath, and his expression clears. “Sorry, Madara. You should go back to bed and get some sleep.”

He's exhausted; Madara can hear it in his voice.

Getting to his feet- there's no sense in trying to make Hashirama come back when he doesn't want to- Madara returns to their bedroom.

When he returns, he throws a blanket at the back of Hashirama's head.

“What-”

“It's cold,” Madara says archly as he reclaims his spot beside Hashirama, a second blanket wrapped around his own shoulders. “It's bad enough that you have cold feet. You'll freeze me to death in our bed if you don't at least keep a blanket on.”

Hashirama blinks at him, so Madara picks the blanket up and throws it over him.

“You still need to sleep,” he explains, adjusting Hashirama’s blanket. Hashirama only stares at him, and Madara’s hackles rise “Don't look at me like I have too many heads. I can be nice.”

Hashirama’s smile is too small, but he shifts so he can lay his head on Madara’s shoulder, arms encircling Madara's waist.

Pleased, Madara lifts a hand and cards his fingers through Hashirama's hair.

“I know you can be nice,” Hashirama says softly. “I wouldn't love you if you couldn't.”

Madara’s heart leaps into his throat.

Hashirama noses at Madara’s neck. “You don't have to say anything back. I just wanted to make sure you'd heard it from me. We live in an uncertain world, and even if we’re called gods, we aren't truly immortal-”

Madara tugs Hashirama's hair sharply.

“Ow!” Hashirama twists to look up at him in remonstration. “Madara!”

“Don't tell me I don't have to say anything, then talk about how I should know you love me because we could die any time!” Madara hisses. “How is that not pressuring me?”

Misery crashes down on Hashirama. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Which is why I only pulled your hair instead of dumping you on your ass.”

“I guess that's something…”

Despite the wariness on his face, Hashirama lays his head back down, and Madara resumes petting him.

The silence lets the same doubts that plague him in bed take root out here.

If Izuna had been killed instead of Tobirama, Madara wouldn’t be sitting here with Hashirama. He'd be tearing the world apart.

The thought that Hashirama loved his brother less than Madara loves Izuna sits uncomfortably in his chest. It's true, and Hashirama must know that. He must see Izuna leaning on Madara and think he didn't love Tobirama like that.

Tobirama died by Izuna’s hand. Even if Hashirama can't bring himself to embrace Madara’s brother and finds reasons not to be home when Izuna visits, he's adjusting. He laughs sometimes at Madara’s stories of Izuna’s adventures. He doesn't let the village ostracize Izuna.

What good is peace without his family? Without the brother he speaks of with affection that didn't exist when Tobirama was alive?

If Hashirama had truly loved Tobirama, he wouldn’t have let Izuna walk free. He wouldn't have let Madara and his clan join Konoha. He would have wiped them out.

Would he let someone who killed Madara walk free for the sake of a dream? Can he really claim to love Madara if Madara’s death wouldn't destroy him?

As Madara plays with Hashirama's hair, something wet lands on his neck. It takes him a moment to place it, and when he does, he wishes he hadn't.

In the years they've known each other, Madara has never seen Hashirama cry. He's seen Hashirama fall to his knees. He's seen Hashirama yell. He's seen Hashirama’s eyes shine.

But he's never seen Hashirama cry.

“You think I didn't love him, don't you?” Hashirama asks, voice thick.

Madara hesitates.

Hashirama pulls away. He doesn't wipe his face, and as the moonlight hits him, the lower half of his face glitters.

Shaking his head, Hashirama frowns down at his hands where they're resting on his knees. “Hashirama, Tobirama, Kawarama, Itama- all of us named after the spaces between. How can there be space between two things when only one remains, Madara?"

His voice catches, but he only clenches his fists and raises his head to meet Madara’s eyes. “If letting Tobirama’s death go means I can be the last man to bury a brother, then I will let it go. For every other brother, I will let it go. For you, I’m willing to let Izuna live the long, happy life my own brother should have had. There's no other man I'd let live as I've let Izuna. So don't doubt me. Don't make light of my choice to love you more.”

He doesn't shout. He doesn't weep. His shoulders hardly shake. He just breathes unsteadily as tears flow down his chin and meets Madara's eyes like he expects a fight.

No one has ever looked to Madara for comfort; even Izuna, his sole remaining brother who adores him, only expects orders from Madara.

Hashirama isn't asking for comfort. He's just begged Madara not to question him, but Hashirama won't lean back into Madara. He’s still sitting up on his own, eyes damp and heated.

It rankles.

Madara lays a hand on Hashirama’s shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Hashirama shakes his head, expression drawn. “It wouldn't be good for either of us.”

“I'm not talking about having sex,” Madara says, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It's cold out here, and you'll feel better if you’re warm. So unless there's a better place where we can lie down together with enough blankets to keep us warm, bed is where we’re going. If you argue with me, I'll just carry you.”

Hashirama wisely doesn't argue, but when he tries to stand up, he sways, so Madara picks him up anyway. It isn't difficult; for a man as big as he is, Hashirama weighs very little.

By the time Madara deposits Hashirama on their bed, he can tell that Hashirama is worn out to the point that he's going to sleep through the rest of the night.

Madara lies down on his back in his usual spot beside Hashirama, and Hashirama hums quietly as he wearily makes himself comfortable, the fragile atmosphere softening as he cuddles up to Madara. As he always does, that means he throws one leg and his hip over Madara’s then does the same with his arm and his chest.

By the time Hashirama is settled, he's lying half on top of Madara. Over the course of the night, he’ll either roll off or haul himself the rest of the way up.

“I’m glad you aren't like me,” Madara tells the top of Hashirama’s head. “I don't want you to make me kill you.”

Hashirama doesn't laugh- he knows this, unlike the challenges they throw at each other during the day, isn't a joke. Instead, he turns his head and kisses Madara’s shoulder. “Thank you, Madara.”

“Thank me by going to sleep.”

Humming softly, Hashirama adjusts his position one last time, then sighs heavily.

Madara strokes his back until Hashirama relaxes and the sound of his slow, deep breaths doesn't falter.

Even then, Madara doesn't stop.

Hashirama’s weight and the feeling of his warm breath on Madara's neck are slowly becoming parts of going to bed that Madara looks forward to.

They've seen each other in sunlight and moonlight. All that's left is to live with what they've seen.

**Author's Note:**

> The Academy was Hashirama's idea, but I figure Tobirama was the one who knew how to implement it
> 
> You can say hi on [tumblr](https://asotin.tumblr.com) if you'd like to!


End file.
